


come, blade, my breast imbrue

by kermiethefrog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Crossdressing, M/M, Rimming, Weecest, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermiethefrog/pseuds/kermiethefrog
Summary: Written for the 2018 SPN Spring Fling. Dean catches Sam cross-dressing.





	come, blade, my breast imbrue

**Author's Note:**

> original post can be found here: https://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/198019.html
> 
> sam is 16 here, but you can imagine whatever the hell you want my dudes

“Sammy?”

Sam’s fingers froze where they were pinching the excess fabric of his waistband, his head whipping around to stare wide-eyed at his older brother. There was a moment of tense silence, Sam’s heart thudding in his chest like he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial fucking cookie jar - which, when he had a white, flowing skirt falling past his knees, felt very fucking accurate to the situation at hand. It took him a few seconds to kick his brain into gear before he grabbed up his jeans, clutching them at hip level in a weak attempt to cover up.

“Jesus, Dean! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?!” His voice broke at the end of it - fuck puberty, honestly, it felt like a never-ending nightmare - and his entire face went warm, spreading from the tips of his ears and flushing down his chest.

“Damn, Sam,” Dean started teasing instead, raising his eyebrows, “so, what, is this a kinky thing? It sure feels like a kinky thing.”

Sam balked for a good ten seconds before he shut his mouth with the click of his teeth. “It’s for my drama class. We’re performing a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s Shakespeare,” Sam forced out as he tried to regain his composure. He shifted on his feet, nervous where his fingers were fidgeting with the waistband of the skirt. “I’m playing Flute. So I’m - I’m trying on, like, costumes or whatever.”

“Uh… huh,” Dean said slowly, eyes switching between Sam’s face and lower down, flickering to where bare calves were peeking out from below the skirt. Dean shut the door behind him, the click resounding out with a finality that sent heat through Sam’s stomach. “You’re playing a girl? What, did they run out of better options?”

“He’s a boy,” Sam protested, his embarrassment sitting hotly on his face. “He’s an actor, he just… plays a girl in a play at the end.”

“Plays within plays,” Dean said, flopping down to sit on the edge of the mattress as he rolled his eyes, “what is it with Shakespeare?”

Sam stared incredulously at his brother, locked in a staring contest before he sputtered, arm shooting out towards the door. “Dude! Leave!”

“But Sammy, I’m  _ bored _ ,” Dean returned, grinning like a fucking asshole. Sam glared. “Besides, don’t you want a second opinion on what looks good? Between you and me, that one’s not doing much for your figure.”

Sam threw his jeans at Dean, scowling as his brother balled them up and threw them back, hitting him square in the chest. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he mumbled, turning around to face the standing mirror. He bent over to grab another skirt from his backpack, where he’d stuffed the options given to him by his scene partners - if Dean was going to be weird about it, then he was just going to do his best to ignore him. Sam slipped it on underneath the one he was already wearing, letting the white skirt drop and pool around his ankles before he kicked it away.

The new one was pleated, a dark blue reminiscent of private schools or cheerleaders. He furrowed his brows as he zipped up the side, hiding it underneath a conveniently pressed pleat and smoothing out the front. It cut off too high, meant for someone half a foot shorter, but it came in right below the valley of his waistline, sitting comfortably and not too tight. He frowned at his reflection; it figured that the one that actually fit didn’t look any good on him.

“Hell-oooo, Mena Suvari,” Dean whistled from behind him, eyebrows raising. Sam turned to face Dean and managed a withering glare, face heating at the smirk on his brother’s lips. He felt awkward and too-tall, peach fuzzy where he should be smooth; he folded his arms over his stomach, suddenly ashamed of his skinny chest and thin hips. “Gimme a turn, Sammy.”

“Shut up,” Sam shot back, moving to pull it off. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror again and it made him feel a little sick, embarrassed at how he’d given in to coos and insistent promises from his drama group that he would look good. He was too lanky and sharp-angled to pull off feminine, but not masculine enough to garner any second glances, not like Dean did. An outsider in his own family, highlighted by thin thighs and hands too large for his body. “That’s it, I’m just going to wear jeans,” he mumbled.

He was stopped by Dean’s fingers on his wrists, stilling them where they were struggling with the side zipper. He brought his attention up, brows knitting in confusion, and his mouth dried up at the dark look in Dean’s eyes. “Keep it on,” Dean instructed, snapping heat to his stomach.

Sam tried to shoot something back, but nothing came to him, his voice stuck in his throat. Dean stepped back, settling back on the edge of the mattress as he gently tugged Sam along by his hands. Sam went easily, stumbling a little; Dean’s hands steadied him where they wrapped around his hips.

“I look stupid,” Sam argued finally, though it felt weak in his mouth, a half-hearted protest. 

“Nah, Sammy.” The way Dean said it, calm and confident, made Sam’s dick twitch in his underwear. Dean’s fingers slid up his sides, digging into the dip of his waist. “You look so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked, voice so tight that the word came out as little more than a hoarse whisper. 

Dean dragged him closer until Sam was slotted between Dean’s thighs. Sam went off-balance at the force of it, and his hands came up to grip his brother’s broad shoulders, front teeth coming out to bite down on his lower lip. 

“Yeah,” Dean answered, sweet-heat smirk in full force, and Sam felt dizzy with how fucking hard he was, “you’re such a pretty baby, Sammy.”

Dean’s hands slid down his sides, one palm pulling a yelp from Sam’s lips as it came down on his ass, the satisfying smack echoing in the room. Sam’s fingers dug into his brother’s shoulders, knees buckling a little, and he tried to glare at the chuckle Dean let out. 

“What, not hot for teacher?” Dean teased, fingers trailing down below the line of the skirt. Sam hitched his breath as they touched his bare thigh underneath, starting a slow drag up his legs.

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam grumbled, leaning forward and head dropping so he could hide his face into Dean’s hair. His ass was popped out like this, and Sam knew it; he felt Dean’s hands shift to the back of his thighs, hitching up the fabric as they went upwards. 

Large and hot and demanding. Sam let his eyes close as he sunk into the feeling of his brother’s hands on his body, cock painfully hard and needy, and he breathed open-mouthed and warm against Dean’s ear. He was half a second away from just gripping the back of Dean’s head and fucking his mouth when:

“Is this girl’s underwear?”

Dean’s palms were on his ass and off in a flash, a pull of cold air sweeping across his thighs as the back of his skirt was flipped up. Sam flushed, coming back into himself, and he stood straight, hands reaching back to fix the cloth. He fought with Dean for a second, his brother’s smile growing wider with realization until Dean’s fingers gripped tight around his wrists and held them in place at the dip of his lower back. 

Sam squirmed in the hold. “I - I thought it would look better than - my own boxers -” he stammered out, and Dean let out a bark of laughter.

“Holy shit, did someone  _ lend _ you these?” 

“What? No!” Sam tried one last time to take back his hands, letting them fall open and useless when Dean refused to let up. His face burned impossibly hot and he wanted to bury himself into his pillow and possibly suffocate there, if God was feeling merciful. “I - I stole them from K-Mart,” he explained, the words thick in his throat. He ducked his head, trying to avoid Dean’s searing gaze. His words were hardly more than mush in his mouth. “They’re mostly just… because I thought you’d like them. I wasn’t planning on showing you yet.”

Dean’s fingers tightened in the hold, knuckles pressing hard into the swell of Sam’s ass. Dean let out a quiet groan, forehead leaning in to rest in the center of Sam’s chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy, are you trying to kill me?”

Sam smiled despite himself, biting it down sharply. Dean’s teeth came down on his stomach, where his shirt had ridden up and exposed a thin sliver of skin, and it pulled another half-strangled yelp from his throat. He was about to protest when Dean released his hold, staring up at Sam darkly.

“Lemme have a closer look,” Dean urged, and Sam could do nothing but nod dumbly at the hungry look in Dean’s eyes. Dean gently shoved him a few steps back and slid down onto his knees, one hand closing around a thin ankle. Sam’s fingers were trembling when they reached down and pulled up the front of his skirt. 

“Shit, baby,” Dean breathed out, “so fucking perfect.”

Sam licked his lips, mouth falling open to pant softly. From this position, all he could see was the curve of Dean’s strong back, his shoulders peeking out, the pleats of the skirt spreading open where Dean’s head was ducked underneath. His brother’s fingers slid up his thighs, digging into the sensitive, hot-flushed inner skin, and he could feel warm breath over his dick. Then Dean hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Sam’s underwear and dragged them down, cotton white panties falling past his knees; Sam let out a hitched, quiet moan as his cock sprung free, smacking across Dean’s cheek.

“Fuck, Sammy,” came Dean’s voice, gravel-low and rumbling straight to the base of Sam’s cock; Dean chased the sensation with his mouth, taking Sam all the way down to the back of his throat in one go.

Sam whined. He fucking  _ whined _ , letting the skirt fall from his fingers as he gripped the back of Dean’s head. Dean took him down three more times, letting Sam hold him steady the last time; Sam could feel Dean’s huffing breaths against his pelvis, the ebb of Dean’s throat working against his cock, the sudden constriction that predated his gag reflex kicking in. Sam let him up and Dean’s laughter came out throat-worn and affectionate as he pushed up onto his feet.

Once Dean was standing, Sam grabbed the front of his shirt, dragging him down for a greedy kiss; Dean let out a huff of laughter into his lips, hands coming to cup his jaw. 

“So fucking needy, huh, baby boy,” Dean teased, and Sam bit down on his brother’s lower lip. Dean let out a hiss, flinching back; there was a smear of blood on his incisors, visible where Dean was grinning. “Bitch.”

Sam responded with another kiss, licking into the metal-coated mouth. Dean gripped his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and turned them in one easy move, shoving him back onto the bed. Sam fell back, stopped by the edge of the mattress, eyes wide and lips feeling full - he watched as Dean pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side before he fell into the bed, shifting to lie back on a pillow.

“Sit on my face, baby,” Dean instructed, and Sam bit back the moan sitting pretty in his throat, thighs still buzzing sensitive. He scrambled into position, hitching up his skirt and letting Dean’s hands guide him into place until his brother’s head was nestled between his thighs. 

Large hands wrapped around the backs of his thighs, right under the curve of his ass. It sent a thrill through to Sam’s stomach; he felt so drunk on arousal, he could barely think. Dean tugged him down, and Sam’s dick twitched back into attention at the hot lathe across his hole, dragging a high, needy moan from his throat. He kept one hand twisted in his skirt, the other clutching the top of Dean’s head as he rocked his ass over his brother’s face, the burn of stubble raw across his skin. Dean licked him open, tongue fucking into his ass, and Sam took in a sharp inhale as one of Dean’s fingers slid in alongside, filling him up.

“More, more, more,” Sam whimpered, chasing the sensation. He received a slap on his ass for his impatience, and it just made him grind down harder. “Please, Dean, please, I need more.”

Maybe his big brother spoiled him too much - he keened out another moan, back arching as Dean inserted another finger, scissoring him open. Sam rocked into them, hand leaving his skirt so he could pinch a nipple through his shirt, before Dean hooked his fingers. 

“Oh, fuck,” Sam gasped out, hands shooting out to grip the iron headboard; he could feel Dean smile against his ass, fingers crooking again and sending another shudder through his hips. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, right there, Dean, right fucking there -”

“I got you, baby,” Dean murmured back into his thigh, pressing a kiss there as he inserted another finger, stretching him wide and dragging a groan from deep in his chest. 

Sam could feel himself babbling out  _ yes, yes, fuck, please, Dean _ over and over until they felt like nonsense words in his mouth as Dean fingered him open, orgasm present and sitting at the forefront of his hips. He tried to chase it, tried to chase what he wanted; Dean stopped him, fingers leaving his ass and wrapping around his thighs. The emptiness that it left Sam with was overwhelming, tears pushing at his waterline as he whined, wanting.

“C’mere.” Dean pushed and guided Sam down the length of his body, and Sam was grateful for the strong arms that kept his wobbly legs from collapsing. Sam’s knees bracketed Dean’s thighs, still denim-clad to his fuck-hazy dismay, and his fingers sought out the muscle of Dean’s shoulders, weakly pulling him upright so he could kiss him wetly. He rocked his hips down into Dean’s lap, and Dean let out a groan into his mouth, arms wrapping around Sam’s waist and pulling their chests flush. 

“Need your cock,” Sam panted, rocking hard against the line of Dean’s dick, “now, please, need you to fuck me.”

Sam thought Dean was going to tease him again, shoot back with something witty and clever; instead, Dean’s fingers were quick, the sound of his zipper so fucking loud and satisfying. “Yeah,” Dean responded, just as sex-dumb as Sam felt, and then Dean’s thick cock was pressing hotly against his ass, “fuck, yeah, gonna fuck you right, Sammy.”

Sam sat up on his heels, drooling saliva onto his open palm before he reached down underneath him, lifting the edge of his skirt and coating Dean’s cock as he pumped him a few times. He could feel Dean’s hips hitch upwards into his grip, and Sam’s thighs were shaking as he guided Dean’s cock where he wanted it to go.

Like echoes in chorus - they both moaned when the head of Dean’s cock slipped inside of his ass, and then again when Sam bottomed out in one motion. Sam couldn’t move for a moment, just barely able to keep himself upright, and was grateful for Dean’s hands on his hips, guiding him into a slow grind. 

“Like that?”

Sam could do nothing but moan and nod emphatically, mind going blank until all he could think about was Dean’s fingers, his mouth, his dick. He could feel his own cock leaking, untouched and wanting attention; as if Dean could read his mind, his brother wrapped a hand around it, starting a tight and painfully slow pace.

His body hitched at that, electricity like a jolt that propelled him into motion - he began to bounce on Dean’s lap, fucking himself on his brother’s thick cock. Dean’s teeth found his throat, canines digging into his skin, and like that, Sam’s overloaded mind began to short-circuit, overwhelmed. His high-pitched moans turned into hitching whines, arms wrapped around Dean’s neck and holding on tight as Dean took over, fucking up into him, hips snapping rough and fast.

“Fuck, fuck, Dean, right there,” he sobbed, throat tight with tears, “so good, your cock feels so good, I can’t - Dean -”

“You’re okay, baby,” Dean cut in, hand gripping the back of his neck tightly. Sam shuddered with new tears. “I got you, come for me, Sammy, come for your big brother.”

Sam shook, thighs tightening as he obeyed, moan strangled in his throat and half-swallowed by Dean’s mouth. Dean stroked him through his orgasm, milking his cock dry and smearing come across the underside of his skirt; Sam kept rocking his hips into Dean’s dick, explosive white burning behind his eyes. He could still feel himself letting out wrecked noises, throat worn, and Dean gave his spent cock a sensitive-pain twist of his wrist, making him flinch forward and moan hard.

“Good boy,” Dean praised softly, lips on Sam’s jaw, and Sam sighed brokenly, blinking slowly before he started grinding again, pleasure-achingly aware of Dean’s cock filling him up. Dean’s head dropped back for a moment before his mouth was on Sam’s throat. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Sam’s mouth felt useless, sloppy where Dean tried to pull kisses, capable of little more than fucked-out whines and hitched moans as Dean began a new rhythm, fucking into him and taking it as hard as he needed it; Sam tried to tighten around him, moving his hips down to meet Dean’s until his moans grew needy again.

“M’gonna come, Sammy,” Dean warned, a growl against the hollow of his throat.

“Inside,” Sam choked out, oversensitive and worn, fingertips biting into his brother’s shoulder blades, “come inside, please, I wanna feel it.”

Dean cursed into his skin, arms crushing around him as he came with a blissed-out, rough groan; Sam moaned out his approval, holding Dean tight to drag out everything he had, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Dean’s cock fucking through the orgasm. He felt so open, messy and sloppy and used up like only Dean could make him feel, and he sighed dreamily into the kiss that Dean pulled him into.

They settled in close, Sam chasing kisses and Dean giving them in spades, smiling easy and loose and basking in post-orgasmic high. Dean’s fingers picked at the hem of the skirt, wrinkled and soiled with Sam’s come.

“D’you think she’d miss this skirt?” Dean suddenly asked into the crook of Sam’s throat. 

Sam laughed and dragged him up for another kiss.


End file.
